


Florida

by AAluminium



Category: Original Work, US, United States of America - Fandom
Genre: America, Attempt, F/M, Impression, States, The United States of America, Us - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 02:09:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19241683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AAluminium/pseuds/AAluminium
Summary: It is hard for me to speak about Florida: this is the state I remember by vivid flashes and neon signs that reflected in the water – and this is the state that has changed my life in the extreme. It altered my worldview, my way of thinking, myself.





	Florida

It is hard for me to speak about Florida: this is the state I remember by vivid flashes and neon signs that reflected in the water – and this is the state that has changed my life in the extreme. It altered my worldview, my way of thinking, myself. Despite its relative juxtaposition with Virginia, Georgia, Louisiana and Mississippi, there is no place for aristocratic idleness so characteristic of the aforementioned locations. Florida is a vivacious mulatto wearing clicking wooden bracelets around her wrists; she’s a flamboyant and volant dancer with the dark wet hair spread across her bronze shoulders and flexible back arched in a quaint move. She’s singing, she’s beating tambourines; she darts glances and breaths heavily; she taps the rhythm and steps into the water, always in the move – her gestures are contagious, her ebullience is easily transmissible and she inflames any spectator effortlessly. If Florida were a woman, – the mesmerizing woman I see her to be, – she would be able to make people crazy. 

Though I didn’t consider her this way from the very beginning. Reading about Orlando, Miami and Tallahassee, I expected to meet a garishly painted lass lazily chewing gum. I was sure the Hispanic past had been lost for good as well as her zeal and flame she could conquer me with. Both Miami and Orlando made money by Disney and gargantuan malls simultaneously enthralling people by white beaches and palm trees so often being stuck in the movies tearing a bit off of Florida to create a beautiful picture. In reality it was different; it was volatile, playful, frisky, with the bubbling blood of the first Spanish conquistadors and primeval wild straightforwardness of the Indians native to the place. 

It is astonishing how many things I have failed to comprehend. You have a portion of this Southern blood, don’t you? I still don’t know where you come from. For some obscure reason I think you’re from California albeit you perfectly feel the rhythm, you stream into the atmosphere forthwith, and you are not scared of the terrible humidity, or of the heat, or of the inconstancy – you aren’t from here but you belong to the city, you easily follow this common dance generated by someone else. By the by, I didn’t get hooked immediately: not sooner had we landed, than I squelched the desire to go back right away. It was impossible to breathe there: after New York City, which was indeed stifling but static climate-wise, I got an impression of a muffler tightly wrapped around my neck and knotted to smother me. Well, yes, this was entirely my idea; well, yes, I derailed your plans; well, yes, I put on a brave face and bragged that I couldn’t care less about the weather… it turned out I cared a lot. I wanted nothing more but to sit down on this goddamn yellow valise symbolizing a brilliant trip to the earthy heaven I had imagined. Smog prevents you from breathing in New York; in Orlando moisture gets into your lungs through the air you inhale. 

“To hell with it,” I drawled, blinked a couple of times. “Can’t believe people live here. And breathe. And move.” 

“And feel nice,” it was evident you were chafed although tried to seem frigid. “Can you not perform on the way to the hotel?” 

“If anything,” I replied willingly, grabbing the suitcase and getting inspired. “Where is it?” 

“Well. Coupla miles away.” 

My smile had never been erased quicker but you appeared to enjoy it to a fault. Attentive by nature, I didn’t manage to notice a huge, tall building of the hotel in front of us. It may take us at least seven minutes of walk through incandesced air of friendly suffocating Florida, but in the end… they have air-conditions there, don’t they? 

“I hope your ‘coupla miles away’ is closer than it seems. Otherwise we are to brawl again.” 

You have a hot temper, you know that? Despite your effort to control yourself hammer and tongs, I sensate your boiling anger. I easily do that to you, and yet you are always striving to conceal it and seldom growl at me. I wonder what can rile you to the maximum… I wonder if I can tease you all the way. Oh, lack of rooms at the hotel!.. Certain we were a couple, the staff offered us a suite with a king-size bed in it apologizing for a tremendous group of tourists. People normally book in advance – and I have impelled you to dart off on a whim. 

“It doesn’t matter how many beds they have there,” I began to fawn, realizing that I surely did not crave to experience the straggling outside one more time, “but if you mind,” here I made such a tragic grimace that Shakespeare’s characters would stay stupefied in dignified awe, “of course we can walk another… ‘coupla miles’. Or call a taxi and waste a considerable sum of money. Or die en route.”  
I thought I drove you crazy!.. At least we saved up a bit there, so we could spend some more time at the counter chatting with a bartender. You had promised to show me some nice places that wouldn’t hit me in the wallet… And, oh, I really didn’t care about the number of beds in the room but it was me who literally fell down on the lovingly sheeted monster about the size of an airdrome. 

“Don’t you dare say you’re planning to sleep the first day through,” you raised your eyebrows and sniffed just as expressively as a dramatic actor playing a part. Out of the corner of the eye I was watching you look through the folder with the hotel’s rules – and your thin fingers turning the laminated pages. I never spotted this in you: although you were impetuous, you possessed a special sort of grace – or, discretion, more like; the ability to wait and attack. 

“Night, to be exact. Anyway, I don’t lock you up in the room, do I? If the TV in cahoots with mini-bar don’t match your tastes, then go find a club around…”  
I mumbled something else but you sure weren’t listening; either my glassy eyes were too eloquent saying there was no point convincing me, or you just latched onto the idea to hang out… At any rate, I was so darn exhausted that I didn’t even hear you go: the last thing I recollected was rustling. You were searching for the license or the key albeit I didn’t catch any clanking. Can you imagine how drowsy I got! Even now I fail to explain it: normally my energy is enough to accomplish bigger feats than just a flight, but the power of Florida turned out to be more potent than I expected… and you experienced it as well… 

I woke up in the middle of the night to be taken aback: we were sleeping together in an embrace. Our relationship did not go further than friendly hugs at the airport, carousals and loud sprees, but something weird was now happening to us both. You behaved differently, you were different with me, and apparently took my words about the bed for an fortuitous innuendo I didn’t mean. It is impossible to hold a person so tightly by inertia. You know, I had never been held so tightly before: it was the first time I felt so secure and indemnified… and the first time I realized I was squeezing you back! How long has it been this way? When did you come back? What the hell is going on? What occurred to us? Even knowing this is just a diary I will never give anyone to read, I still cannot muster my thoughts and analyze it – I don’t want to! On the contrary, I would love it to stay in my head, I would love those scalding touches were not to be erased from the memory. 

Out of dumb curiosity I planted a kiss on your neck – my lips were too close to it, so I yielded to the temptation. What will you do? Will you wake up? Will you move away? More likely, you won’t react or laugh it off, and I’ll sustain the decision and turn to the wall. 

I bite your skin – and slightly stick my nails into your chest. 

And suddenly I feel your ardent lips sliding from my temple to the cheek; I raise my head to see your face – and realize I cannot be responsible for my actions, and you are also losing control. I used to laugh at ‘wild kisses’ described in silly kitsches, but this characteristic was exact. You literally bit me, you were rough and demanding; you didn’t even ask if I wanted it or not. You squashed me in the arms, I couldn’t breathe – and this time it wasn’t Florida’s fault; I didn’t resist, submitting to the pace you set. I stuck my nails into your swarthy skin leaving deep marks, you stole kiss by kiss tearing away my shirt. Initially I started murmuring we were in a hotel room, it all could wait but you didn’t seem to hear me, or refused to. And I gave in. I don’t have the slightest clue what you were thinking about but I was going insane and barely had the time to return favors aware of the fact I would ever hardly be able to describe my sensations. I didn’t like your kisses – they felt harsh and extremely vehement for me, the one accustomed to lead and to get lazy caresses in response. You ignored me to a certain extent to whet my appetite; you acted the way you considered right and were evidently positive I could understand your hints, your hot, low whisper, your growling that nearly frightened me. I had never ever faced such things before: I was scared I could not master such a conflagration of feelings, my inner frost was not sufficient to reign in; the snows of my country were not enough to subdue your southern blood. I did sense your calloused fingers on my chest, and I remember so far the contrast between the color of your skin, so dark, and mine – almost marble… 

Damn, I am ashamed. Every time I reminisce this mad race, I have to fight the willies it gives me. The more I want to forget the way you pulled my hair, pressed me to your body and kissed me, the brighter picture blooms in my head. There was something primitive and primeval in it; as if no lanterns existed, the whole world ended and there were only two of us trying to grab the last moments before dawn, striving to vanquish… catching glimpses in each other’s shimmering orbs in attempt to guess…

…and to fit in with the frantic rhythm of Florida’s dance playfully twisting a strand of dark hair around her finger…


End file.
